


Brotherly Love

by poisontaster



Series: Brotherly Love [1]
Category: Black Donnellys
Genre: Barebacking, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, Jealousy, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Sexual Violence, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-30
Updated: 2007-03-30
Packaged: 2017-12-31 12:40:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kevin's been hanging out at a new bar.  Tommy has some problems with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brotherly Love

**Author's Note:**

> Muchas gracias to technosage and mona1347 for telling me exactly what was wrong and how to fix it.

So Tommy's just walking along, you know?

Walking along, minding his own business and thinking about maybe catching some dinner in the diner when Fishhook Fairlane sidles up to him with a nod and a "Hey, yo, Tommy."

Tommy nods back and wonders tiredly which of his brothers this is about now. And when he became Father Confessor for the Donnelly clan. "Fishhook. What's the good word?"

Fishhook rubs his nose, looking embarrassed and that's how Tommy knows it's probably not Jimmy. Jimmy just makes people look mad. "Aw, Tommy, you know how it is. You got a sec?"

Tommy sighs and stops and turns to look at Fishhook. "Yeah, sure. What's going on?"

Fishhook looks down at his feet, scuffing them on the pavement. "Well, you know. I didn't want you hearing it from somebody around the neighborhood and all…"

And never mind that Fishhook _is_ just 'somebody around the neighborhood, of course.

"…but I thought you should know. I mean… I thought you'd _wanna_ know." Fishhook shakes his head. "God knows, I'd wanna know, if it was my brother."

Tommy puts his hand on Fishhook's shoulder—though not without reservation, 'cause it's a warm night and Fishhook _sweats_ —and kind of leans down. "C'mon, Fishhook. What are we even talking about here?"

"It's about Kevin."

Tommy sighs. "Aw, hell. How much does he owe you?" He's only got about forty bucks in his wallet and no real way to put his hands on more for a while, but he can probably wheedle for time. Everybody knows Tommy doesn't welch.

But Fishhook just shakes his head and shuffles some more. "Nah. S'not about a bet. I just thought you might wanna know… Me and some of the guys were out the other night and we saw Kevin coming out of the Banana Leaf Lounge with a bunch of guys."

On saying it, Fishhook lets out a big sigh of relief, like maybe it wasn't as bad as he'd been thinking, but Tommy still hasn't made it onto the same page. "Yeah, so?" Tommy shrugs. "Kevin's old enough to drink wherever he wants."

But Fishhook's shaking his head and looking all mournful again, like somebody just shot one of his half-dozen cats. "Nah, Tommy. You don't get it. The Banana Leaf? It's a _fag bar_ , man."

***

News delivered, Fishhook is quick to beat a retreat and Tommy's just as glad, feeling a lot like someone sucker punched him in the jaw. The words keep rolling around in his head like lotto balls in the hopper: _Kevin. Fag bar. Bunch of guys. Fag bar. **Kevin.**_

Something sour and ugly clenches in his stomach, a sweaty sense of nausea and he wonders if this is his fault. He can't even remember when he and Kevin started messing around—which is how he's always thought of it, 'messing around' and not that different from when they hang out and play pool or crowd around the fuzzy ten year old TV and watch sitcoms—but it was never anything he thought about a whole lot. Four boys in an apartment, you're gonna run across one of your brothers jerking off now and again. And then…maybe-sometimes you just give them a hand. An assist. And sometimes, maybe your mouth.

But there's a whole hell of a lot of difference between some casual messing around and ( _fag bar_ )…

That.

Tommy rakes a hand through his hair and looks around without really seeing anything. Sweet Jesus fuck, if it's really true, if Kevin really is going out and meeting up with guys… God. Does he even _know_ these guys? Tommy loves Kevin with all his heart, but his little brother's not the brightest bulb in the package. What Kevin is mostly good at is getting along and doing what he's told and the thought of some giant, beefy queer in leather fucking Kevin's mouth or God forbid, Kevin's _ass..._

All at once, Tommy's fumbling through his jacket for his cell phone. He drops it on the ground in a sharp crack of plastic. "Fuck!" he says, loudly enough to make the three girls walking on the other side of the street scoot a little faster.

_Kevin on his knees, lips stretched in an **O** around someone's (_ someone else's _) cock. Kevin bent over and moaning as someone pounds into his ass, hard and unrelenting…_

Tommy's hands shake as he mashes the button; his heart's beating too fast in his chest and his eyes burn like the time Sean squirted lemon dish detergent in his face. He gets Kevin's voice mail.

_"Hi, it's Kevin. Um. Donnelly. Yeah. So… Um. If you've got something to say—quit it, Seanie!—go ahead and say it at the sound of the b…"_

Tommy's thumb grinds the **END** button at the same time he grinds his teeth. His arm jerks back to throw the cell, but at the last moment, he thinks better of it. Instead, he dials home.

"Sean's House of Sexy, how may I help— _ow, Ma!_ "

"Sean, quit screwing around and put Kevin on the phone." He probably shouldn’t be doing this in the middle of the goddamn street, but any place he could think of to go is chock full of the people he least wants to hear about this. No one can know. Not if it's in the least true. 

"Kevin's not here."

Tommy only narrowly avoids kicking the wall. "Well, where is he?"

"Do I look like Kevin's keeper? Jesus—ow, _Ma!_ "

From the other end of the phone, Tommy hears his mother rumble, "Watch your mouth."

"Sorry," Sean grumbles, not sounding sorry at all.

_"Sean,"_ Tommy prompts.

Sean sighs. "I don't know, Tommy, all right? He said he was going out, he went out. End of story. Maybe he's down at the Firecracker with Jimmy."

"Yeah, maybe." Tommy hangs up before Sean can say anything else.

_Kevin with his face pressed against some guy's asshole while another pounds into him from behind._

Another stab of buttons. The noise of the bar blares out at him, long enough that he's almost ready to smash his phone anyway, before Jimmy's irritatingly cheerful voice says, "Firecracker, this is Jimmy."

"Yo, Jimmy, is Kevin there?"

"I'm sorry, you're gonna have to speak up. What?"

Tommy breathes out through his gritted teeth. "Jimmy. It's Tommy. Is Kevin there?"

He hears Jimmy turn from the phone and call out, "Hey! _Hey!_ Anybody seen Kevin around?"

A bunch of indeterminate crowd noise answers him and Tommy growls. 

"Nah, he ain't here." Jimmy comes back finally, chewing something loudly. 

Tommy hangs up before he can get into it with Jimmy, too. He shoves his phone into his pocket before he can dropkick it then takes off, walking as fast as his legs will take him. He's not one hundred percent sure where this ( _fag bar_ ) Banana Leaf Lounge is, but Tommy's lived in this same neighborhood his whole life. How hard can it be?

***

Tommy doesn't know what the hell he's expecting when he steps through the doors of the Banana Leaf Lounge but the truth is it looks pretty much like every seedy, neighborhood dive bar Tommy's ever seen. The ceiling's too low, the bar's too dark and the fug of smoke, beer and sweat doesn't come out of your hair or clothes until you wash, advertising where you've been to everyone.

The truth is, Tommy could have walked into this bar at pretty much any time in his young life and if not for the voice of Fishhook whispering _fag bar_ like poison in the back of his mind, he would've never known the difference. 

Well. At least until he sat with his pint and noticed that the clientele was even more a sausage fest than most of the dives scattered throughout Hell's Kitchen. It doesn't take Tommy long to spot Kevin, standing near the pool table with a group of guys around their own age; Kevin's hair's hard to miss, even at a distance. One of them, a red-headed scarecrow so skinny the wind might knock him over, is standing way too close to Kevin for Tommy's liking, one hand on Kevin's shoulder.

_(keep your hand where I can see it, fuckhead)_

Kevin, as usual, seems oblivious, pointing at the St. John's-UNLV game. Tommy hopes to Christ that Kevin hasn't bet any money on it, but he's been saying that particular prayer like the rosary for years now. In any case, Tommy can see Kevin's new best friend's fingers stroking over Kevin's shoulder, brushing like spider's legs across Kevin's neck.

In any case, it takes Tommy all of two seconds to size up the situation before he walks into the middle of his brother's new 'friends'—and they're all cheering UNLV, the punks—and snaps, "Kevin."

Kevin whips around like someone set fire to his ass, eyes wide and his mouth falling open. "Tommy!" He shakes the guy's hand off his shoulder like Tommy's suddenly been struck blind and stupid. "What…" Kevin swallows, loud enough for Tommy to hear it over the music. "What are you doing here?"

"C'mon, Kevin." Tommy makes a beckoning gesture. "We're getting out of here."

"Aw, Tommy…"

"Hey." The red head shoulders half in front of Kevin like he's going to defend Kevin's fucking honor. Tommy feels sick at the thought. "I think we're all right here, man. We're not bothering nobody."

Tommy doesn't even bother to argue with the guy, just punches him. Dead in the face. He goes down like a house of cards, clutching his face and carrying on and Tommy could give a shit. He grabs Kevin by his jacket sleeve and jerks. "C'mon."

"Aw, Tommy." Kevin rakes through his hair as Tommy tows him, stumbling, out of the bar. "You didn't have to do that.."

***

"Hey Kevin." Jimmy spreads his arms as Tommy pushes Kevin into the Firecracker. "Where you been, punk? Tommy here was worried about ya."

"Shut up, Jimmy," Tommy snaps.

"Jesus." Jimmy looks around disbelievingly as if looking for support. "I'm just saying." He squints blearily at Tommy, but he thinks it's just the drink and nothing stronger. You on the rag, Tommy, or what?"

" _Shut up, Jimmy_!" Tommy says again and shoves Kevin towards the stairs. One fire at a time, one brother at a time.

Behind them, he hears Sean crow, "Aw, Kevin musta done it now…" Tommy's free hand balls to a fist; he shoves Kevin again, even though Kevin was ambling along, almost pushing him into Fatcheeks Avery's table.

"Tommy?" Kevin says doubtfully as they hit the head of the stairs. Maybe he's remembering Louie Downtown, the lunkhead.

"Go."

Kevin nods once, shoulders hunching in, before he goes clattering down the stairs. Tommy hasn't said anything else to him yet, but he can feel the words bumping and crowding for space under his skin.

They get down to the storeroom and Tommy locks the door at the top of the stairs behind him. And, because he knows his brothers, he wedges a chair under the knob as well, tilted precariously on the stairs. Kevin waits at the bottom, jittering his leg and sneaking glances at Tommy when he thinks Tommy doesn't see him.

"You're a fucking idiot, you know that?" Tommy goes back down to Kevin and jabs him sharply in the shoulder with two fingers.

Kevin flinches away, hand coming up to protect his shoulder. "Aw, c'mon, Tommy. I was just watching the game. I didn't even bet on it."

Tommy's fist darts towards Kevin's face; he only stops himself at the last second, arm jerking stiffly back down to his side. "What the fuck are you doing, Kev? Do you know what's going to happen if the neighborhood finds out?"

"I wasn't doing nothing," Kevin mumbles, looking down at his feet. "I was just out with some friends."

"Yeah, I heard about you and your 'friends', Kevin." Kevin's face, so much more Irish-pale than Tommy's, starts to red up. "You think people don't know what goes on in that bar? I already got guys coming up to me. You want them talking to Jimmy? Or Ma?" The best compromise he can make is to fist his hand in Kevin's jacket, shaking him slightly. "What do you think it's gonna do to Ma if she finds out you been going there, mixing with those guys?"

"They're all right, Tommy," Kevin protests, missing the point as usual. "They're nice guys."

"They're nice guys _who want to fuck you in the ass_ , Kevin!" Tommy can't hold it back anymore and the last bit comes out on a roar. Kevin twitches back but he's got nowhere to go with Tommy's hand on him. Tommy gathers him closer. "You're gonna break Mom's heart!"

Kevin's shaking his head. "You don't understand."

"What, Kevin? Huh? What don't I understand?"

Kevin's face comes up, eyes begging for something, like they're always begging for _something_ , even if it's only for someone to love him. "I just…I'm not like you and Seanie…"

"Shut up!" Tommy shoves Kevin and, not ready for it, Kevin goes flying to fall over one of the big crates that's been sitting down here almost since Jimmy won the place. "Jesus, fuck, Kevin, is that what you want? What you're looking for?" 

He doesn't think about it, but suddenly, he's across the room, standing over Kevin, kicking his feet out from under him when Kevin tries to stand.

"Tommy—"

"Shut up!" Tommy plants a hand on Kevin's shoulder blades, holds him flat. "All this time, _all those times_ , is that what you were looking for, Kev?" He reaches around, fumble-jerks with the button of Kevin's jeans, the zipper, until he can tug pants and shorts down in one brutal pull. Kevin's wrestling, trying to get leverage, but it's half-hearted and Tommy's got a good position.

"Is this what you want?" Tommy grinds against Kevin's bare ass, hard, punishing, making Kevin feel him, even through his jeans. "Huh, Kev?" Kevin doesn't say anything, lips pressing stubbornly together. The tightness in Tommy's head cinches taut in his temples until he feels like his head could explode right off his shoulders. 

All at once, he finds himself fumbling with the fly of his own pants, jerking the denim apart and shoving his boxers roughly down so he can grasp the hot, angry length of his cock and drag it free. Under him, Kevin kind of shimmies, thighs trying to push back. Tommy shoves him flat, then presses against him, this time nothing between them as his cock rides the cleft of Kevin's ass.

"You never answered me, Kev," Tommy pants. He's groping through the pockets of Kevin's pushed down jeans, not even sure what he's looking for until he comes up with the packet of lube. Just the sight of it, its mere presence in Kevin's pocket confirms every horrible, graphic thought he's had since Fishhook came slinking up to him and sent his night into a tailspin. Tommy crumples it in his fist for a second, feeling the veins throb hotly in his forehead and neck.

"Get off me," Kevin mutters, flexing against Tommy in a way that only drives Tommy crazy. His cock glides against Kevin's sweaty-hot skin, pleasurably tight. Tommy is aware of Kevin's hard-on, dangling awkward between his spread out thighs, begging touch.

"Oh, but I thought this was the kind of shit you got off on, Kevin." Tommy opens his hand and looks at the packet blindly for several seconds before he tears the corner off with his teeth. The smell of the lube is faintly sweet, like flowered plastic. One handed—the other still planted firmly between Kevin's thin, bird-like shoulder blades—Tommy squirts the clear gel into the cup of his fingers.

"Fuck you, Tommy."

"Nah," Tommy answers easily, slicking his dick and then guiding it down. "Fuck _you_ , Kev." It takes some effort, three hard pistons of his hips, but Tommy forces Kevin to take his cock, sliding in on lube and sheer determination. Kevin cries out, head whipping up and his whole body tensing. A second later, he starts to shake, head dropping back down onto his folded arms.

"You didn't _answer me_ ," Tommy says again, swiveling his hips and leaning in close so his breath makes the curls just behind Kevin's ear dance. He pulls out a little, slams back in. Kevin makes a noise, desperate and stifled. "Is this what you want? Huh, Kev? Is it?"

Kevin's shoulders hunch; his arms uncross so his fingers can hook over the crate's edge and dig in, the tips white with tension. He doesn't say anything, though, and that just makes Tommy madder. 

"Fuck you, Kevin," he bursts out. He fucks into his brother again and again, driving him into the crate until it creaks a little in protest and starts to slowly slide across the floor. "Fuck you, if you think you can just…just…and not tell anyone? Not tell _me_?" Each drive of his cock makes Kevin grunt, tight muscles spasming around his cock. Tommy feels a certain grim satisfaction at each sound, each caught breath, each time Kevin's fingers scrabble on the crate's splintery edge. But it's not enough. Not nearly enough.

"You're gonna tell me," Tommy promises and under him, Kevin shudders. "You hear me, Kev? You're gonna tell me." He seizes Kevin's hips, pale as milk and bony, and jerks his brother back ( _mine_ ), impaling deeper, shifting inside of him. Kevin cries out again and it doesn't sound like surprise. It doesn't sound like pain. 

Tommy never thought of him and Kevin like this ( _lies_ ) but even if he had, he doesn't think he could have imagined anything like how it feels to have his cock inside his brother, tighter than any girl Tommy's ever fucked and twice as hot, twice as smooth. He couldn't have imagined Kevin's moans, different than when Tommy jerks him, the couple of times he's sucked him. They're quieter, almost helpless and God help him, but they go straight to Tommy's dick, making him feel like he could do this for days, weeks, for the rest of forever, without ever going soft.

"Tell me," he says again, grinding his cock deep on every pounding thrust. "Is this what you want? It's an easy enough fucking question to answer, innit? _Is this what you fucking want, Kevin?_ "

Kevin makes a sound like he's choking. Then: "Yes, okay?" Kevin's voice breaks, jagged and warbling; he sounds like he's about to cry. He sounds like he's about to come. "Jesus, fuck, Tommy, _yes._ Yes, okay? Yes, yes, yes…"

That's all it takes; Tommy's orgasm feels like it boils up out of the ground like an earthquake—not that he has any idea what an earthquake feels like. But he imagines it must be something like this, making the ground unsteady beneath his feet and filling up his whole world until all he can do is shake and try to turn inside out. He falls forward, his face mashes into the space between Kevin's shoulders and he whispers, _"Kevin. Kevin, fuck, Kevin."_

Kevin whimpers quietly and reaches back, fingers fumbling clumsily over Tommy's shoulder, his arm. Tommy keeps grinding softly, reaches and takes Kevin's hard, questing cock in his grip and strokes him, fast and rough. Kevin's whimper turns to a moan and he thrusts himself against the crate, trying to fuck deeper into Tommy's hand. "Tommy?"

"Shut up, Kevin." Tommy's breath puffs against his brother's spine, his voice indistinct. "Just…shut up."

Kevin does, obedient, and for a while the only sound is the wet-slick sound of Tommy's hand moving on Kevin's dick and the harsh pant of their syncopated breath. Tommy's completely soft, but he keeps up the same gentle back and forth, almost like he's rocking Kevin to sleep, until Kevin's breath hitches, his body tenses and tightens and he comes scalding and thick, running through Tommy's fingers. "Tommy," Kevin sighs.

All at once, Tommy's anger is back, making his chest tight and his eyeballs throb. He pushes himself back, pushes Kevin away, starts wrestling with his pants. Kevin _oofs_ and sags down to his knees, pants still puddled around his ankles and skinny calves. He turns and looks up at Tommy with huge, questioning eyes.

Tommy's fists ball at his sides. Then: "Do I need to get tested?"

Kevin gapes at him. "What? Tommy…"

Tommy cuts him off with a wave of his hand. "Nah, Kevin. You wanna play hide the salami with a bunch of _faggots_ ," he hates the word, but he says it anyway, just to watch Kevin flinch, "and break your mother's heart, then I can't stop you, but you answer the goddamn question. Do I need to get tested?"

Kevin's face twists. "Oh, fuck you, Tommy."

Tommy lunges forward, latches onto Kevin's shoulders and pushes him back into the crate again. _"Do I fucking need to get tested, Kevin?"_ And he's hurting Kevin, he knows he is, but raging, he wants to hurt him, because this hurts, it fucking _hurts_.

"No," Kevin chokes out, flecks of spit hitting Tommy in the cheek. "No, you fucking asshole." He looks away, cheeks burning in red spots. When he speaks again, he sounds stifled, ashamed. "C'n I get dressed now? You done?"

Tommy jerks back like his hands are burned. "Yeah." He scrapes his hand through his hair, the _weight_ of what he's done hitting him like Dokey's axe. "Jesus, Kevin, yeah."

Kevin pulls his pants up slowly, without getting up, and leaves them unfastened, still half-curled into the crate like he wants to crawl inside. His hair looks so bright against his skin and Tommy'd be lying if he wasn't thinking about how to make a picture of this, the long delicacy of Kevin's hands, the curve of his ear, the bump on his nose from where it was broken. Tommy's belly cramps harder with the churn of the emotions that also make his feel skin too small.

"What are we doing, man?" Kevin asks finally, snapping Tommy out of his horrified daydream. "'Cause I ain't played 'hide the salami' with nobody, Tommy." His eyes glitter angrily above the shamed red of his cheeks but his mouth is still soft, still a little boy's. 

"Bullshit," Tommy breathes through numb lips.

"Oh. Right." Kevin's lips thin. "'Cept now I guess for you, right? Thanks, Tommy. Thanks for being my first, 'n all. It was great. Really." He looks down and shakes his head. "Jesus."

His first. Sweet Christ, his _first_. Tommy feels cold. He feels hot. He stares at Kevin. The first to have—fuck—that tight, virgin white ass. And God help him, but the thought makes him twitch in his pants.

Tommy scoots towards him again. Kevin flinches but Tommy's gentle when he puts his hands on Kevin's shoulders. "Kev. I don't want you going to that bar again, okay?"

Kevin looks at him, wary, suspicious, and confused. He feels so fragile under Tommy's hands and for the first time Tommy gets that maybe Kevin is, just a little bit. "What—"

Tommy shakes his head. "No more bars. No more _guys_. You can't…" Tommy sighs, frustrated and fumbling with the words. " _I_ can't. Okay? Just me. You don't do this with nobody but me."

Tommy's not sure what that means yet, what he's promising to, but he knows he might kill them both if Kevin does this again, if he has to think about other men with their hands all over his brother and that can't happen. It just can't. "Just me," he says again.

Kevin opens his mouth like he's going to say something, argue with Tommy a bit, but he only huffs out empty air before his lips close up again and he nods. "Yeah, Tommy. Okay."

Kevin curls up small when Tommy pulls him into a rough hug, the nape of his neck smooth and just begging to be bitten. _Mine_ , Tommy thinks.

And everybody knows, Tommy Donnelly never lets go of what's his.

**Author's Note:**

> I debated whether to use the "rape/non-con" tag for this story and, in the end, elected to because Tommy doesn't ask for or receive consent before penetrating Kevin. There is literally no consent in this story/sexual encounter. That being said, I don't look at Kevin as unwilling and while sexual stimulation/pleasure can come from rape and neither indicates want or implied consent, _in this particular scenario_ , I posit that Kevin does want Tommy and has for quite some time, even if he wouldn't have chosen his/their first time to go down like this. 
> 
> This story came about because I couldn't quite picture how Kevin/Tommy would become a relationship with anal intercourse as part of it and this was a scenario I could plausibly (for a given value) envision, messed up as it is.


End file.
